Mortal Sin (27 page)

“Good.”

“But now that you mention it, something
has
been percolating in Santa Louisa. I need to get back ASAP. The faster I solve this mystery, the faster I can get out of here.”

Kyle cleared his throat. “We’re in.”

Moira led the way. She stood in the doorway, Kyle and Rico right behind her.

Moira grew even more antsy. Powerful magic filled this room. Out of self-preservation, she closed her senses, shoved her hands in her pockets. Her fingers entangled with the small crucifix Father Philip had given her years ago, when he first saved her life. Calm spread through her. She was still nervous, but ready to do the job.

There was no light shining in from the street above, and Moira couldn’t even tell if there were windows bordering the ceiling. “Rico, do you have lamps?”

He pulled two small camping lanterns from his backpack, turned them on, and handed them to her. She placed one on the right side of the door, and took the other along the left wall and put it in the far corner. They might have been small, but they were powerful enough to nearly fill the cavernous room with light and shadows.

There were signs of work. Construction materials and ladders along one wall. Drop cloths loosely folded in a corner. A staircase on the far side went up to what she presumed was the main floor. The ceilings more than twenty feet above had drop-down industrial lighting. She also saw workman’s lamps hanging along the walls. She searched for a switch and found a cord pulled from the socket. She plugged it in and the room brightened.

No chalk outline marked where John had died, but Moira could almost see his body lying in the middle of the room. Dead center. Was there a reason for that?

When she was in Los Angeles hunting the demon Lust, she’d walked down an alley and found herself trapped in what she thought was a death loop—a psychic repeat-reel of a violent death. It wasn’t until she was immersed in the vision that she realized it was more than that—it was both a glimpse of the past and an odd participation in it. She couldn’t stop the murder, but the demon involved had known she was there.

She had no idea how she’d done it. It wasn’t through magic, that was the only thing she was certain of, but it freaked her out and she’d never tried to consciously look back again. But after walking through the storage unit and knowing what had happened to the homeless vet Joe Smith—without participating in some weird death imprint thing—she was more confident she could learn what happened to John without risking herself, or the others.

If she
didn’t
at least open herself to the option, they might never know what happened to John.

Moira continued to walk the perimeter of the large basement. Remnants of an ancient kitchen had been gutted, the trash piled in the corner, ready to haul out. The walls were made of the original brick, old and dusty but sturdy. She finally stopped on the far side, as far as she could get from Rico and Kyle, and rolled her shoulders. Forced herself to relax. Thought about John and how much he had cared about Father Philip, that he deserved answers, deserved justice. Vengeance, if that what it took.

Moira closed her eyes. She said a prayer.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil, for you are with me…

She slowly let out her breath and opened her eyes.

The colors of the room shifted around her and she stood in the middle of a bright fog as if she were looking at the scene through a cloudy filter. Candlelight glowed, the shadows crawling up the old brick walls. A woman in a long, white, flowing gown stood in the middle of the basement.

Serena. Her sister.

Instinctively, Moira reached for her dagger to deflect any spells Serena shot her way. She held it up to ward off evil, but stopped mid-way. This was the past. This was how John must have died.

As Moira focused on the details, the vision cleared. Candles were displayed on the floor, in nooks and crannies in the brick walls, making the room bright, but the hall leading into it dark. Serena was not alone. Two women were with her; Moira didn’t recognize either one.

“As it is above, so it is below,” Serena chanted.

She wore a gown as did her servants. Serena pointed, they acted. Lighting additional candles, sprinkling herbs at a variety of points, doing exactly as Serena commanded. In the center, at Serena’s feet, was a box. In her hands was a book.

The book.

The
Conoscenza.

If Moira could have reached into the past and ripped that book from Serena’s hands, she would have. It was that damn book, written by demons with human blood, that had caused all the problems they faced. That book had the ritual to unlock the Seven Deadly Sins. It was ancient, from the time after the fall of man, when demons celebrated and angels wept.

The box also looked familiar. Moira slowly walked to take a look, but after two steps an invisible wall stopped her. Warmth wrapped around her, and she looked down and saw the fires of Hell as if she were walking over glass and the fire was below, melting the ground where she stood. She stepped back. The heat remained, but the fire was gone.

It felt like a protection spell, but Moira wasn’t positive because it was different from other protection spells she’d felt. Older. Ancient old or simply a few days old? Had Serena cast it prior to this ritual, or had she picked this spot because of a portal?

Moira walked around the edge of the invisible circle until she had a better view of the box. Icy cold gripped her heart.

She’d definitely seen the box before.

When she’d broken into the apartment of the fake Pastor Garrett Pennington. The box had been in his office. She’d felt the evil radiating from it. She hadn’t touched it as if sensing the darkness within. She’d sent a photo to Father Philip when she first found it, and he had been as terrified as she. Fiona’s coven had always been on the dark side, but this was the blackest of the darkness. This was the dawn of evil, far more ancient and deadly than they could have imagined. None of them were prepared for this.

The Mark of Cain.

The sigil, the mark on the box that identified it, was glowing now, and Serena continued to chant. The box pulsed.

John walked in through the same door Moira had. Moira tried to warn him, but couldn’t speak. Of course she couldn’t warn him, he was dead! This had happened three days ago.

It was clear that John was in pain as he walked. A cut on his face told her he’d been in a fight. That fight had nothing to do with Serena. Moira wasn’t certain how she knew that, but she did.

John thought Serena didn’t see him, but she was well aware of his presence. He took out his gun, but before he could fire, Serena used magic to pin John to the wall.

As if through water, Moira heard Serena’s voice.

“I’ll deal with you later, Johnny Boy.”

Serena read from the
Conoscenza
and a chill ran through Moira. She had no idea what her sister was saying, but it was bad. As she spoke, the box glowed brighter until it looked like it was on fire, the flames bright white.

Serena was focused on the ritual and her two assistants were weak—and scared. Moira could see it and sense it. With Serena’s energy diverted, John slid down the wall. He looked like he planned to leave quietly.

Smart move, John. Why did you come in the first place? Why did you even try to confront Serena alone?

But as John watched across the cast circle from Moira, a demon grew out of the box. It was pure spirit, black and endless as outer space. Dense. It took form, roughly human, then lost it.

“Welcome,” Serena said to the thing. “Guards!”

Two men dragged in a third man. He was bloody and terrified, even though he was large and broad-shouldered.

“Your greatness,” Serena said, “we have found you a body.”

As John (and Moira) watched in horror, the man was dropped into the circle. He tried to run, but Serena used a spell to force him to his knees. The spell was so powerful that Moira’s knees wavered just a bit. She straightened her spine.

Serena read from the book and the demon began to swirl around the inside of the circle, faster and faster.

John, in his infinite goodness, attempted to save the innocent man. It was foolish, but Moira would have done the same thing. And she, too, would have died.

Maybe.

The demon bellowed, and John stopped mid-stride. He stood, horror etched on his face, as all his breath was sucked from him. He fell to the ground, dead, inside the circle.

“How wonderfully perfect!” Serena ordered the demon to possess John’s body.

The demon wrapped around John, absorbed itself into his skin. John’s body began to convulse. Moira wished she could turn away, but she was rooted in this vision, and she feared if she closed her eyes, she would lose the imprint.

Suddenly, the demon flew out of John and hit the ceiling. Moira could feel the creature’s pain burning her own skin. John’s body glowed bright for a fraction of a second, then the light disappeared.

Moira knew exactly what that was. Even in death, John’s soul had been strong enough to repel the demon before leaving. John’s soul was gone.

The demon roared. Not so much an internal sound, but drawing in all the hidden sounds in the room, so it echoed around her with fury. A flurry of wind, caused by the rapidly spinning demon, caused Serena’s hair to whip around. Her sister smiled as if enchanted. Or crazy.

The demon then pushed itself into the innocent victim in the center of the circle. The man’s body twisted in unnatural ways as his soul fought the possession, but he was weak, weaker through the preparations Serena would have done to make him a more willing host.

And it was done.

The man on the ground rose, his aura dark and shimmery. He stretched his new body. “It is good,” the demon said.

The man suddenly turned and stared at Moira.

“She’s here,” he hissed.

Moira froze, rooted to the spot, uncertain if she couldn’t move out of fear or because of magic.

Serena whirled around but didn’t see her. The demon laughed, a sickening, bone-crushing laugh that filled Moira with intense sorrow. She fell to her knees, her insides burning, searing her heart. The mark on her neck, the one she had removed after joining St. Michael’s, burned and she slapped it, trying to rub it off, to no avail. It wasn’t there, but she felt it burn with the heat of a thousand suns.

Her mother had branded her, dedicating Moira to serve in the Underworld. Sometimes, Moira felt she was still cursed, that no matter what she did or said, her fate was sealed. That having the mark removed from her flesh didn’t remove it from her soul.

“I want,”
the demon hissed.
“It’s all mine. Everything is mine.”

An old prayer in Latin sprung to her lips, one Father Philip had taught her years ago, one she hadn’t remembered until now. She whispered it, then her voice grew stronger, and the demon wavered in his attack. “
Libera me ab homine iniquo
!” she exclaimed.

The tenuous hold the demon had on her through the barrier of time broke. She collapsed.

No one thinks of how much blood it costs.

~ Dante Alighieri

“Moira!”

Water doused her head. Rico made the sign of the cross on her forehead and muttered a prayer she half knew. She couldn’t speak; she could barely open her eyes.

He slapped her.

She grabbed his wrist out of reflex. “I’m fine,” she snapped. She stared up at him, realized her head was in his lap, and panic clouded his dark eyes.

“You’re not fine. What happened?”

She had told Rico about what happened in the alley in Los Angeles, when the demon Lust saw her through time, but she hadn’t been exactly detailed in her report and avoided the hard questions.

“I saw the past. Serena, through a demon she controls, killed John. She controls one of the Seven. It felt like Greed. But… I don’t know.”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I’m
not
mistaken.” She sat up. Her barriers were weak and she felt everything Rico felt. His fear. His worry.

And love. He loved her.

As a sister, she told herself. As a daughter, like Father Philip.

You felt Father’s love for you. He loved you as a daughter. It was unconditional, and bright, and all that was good in the world. It was a pure love, chaste and giving and honorable.

Rico’s love was not chaste.

She pulled a water bottle from her pocket and drained it, but still felt parched. She blocked the emotions in the room and began to feel better. She couldn’t think about Rico and what he might or might not feel for her. He was a man who controlled his emotions, and he’d damn well better start doing a better job of it.

“I can’t explain it,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what or why or how, but the demon saw me.” Her deepest fear crept into her consciousness. That she was still cursed, that she had a connection with the Underworld that would never be severed. In Los Angeles, the demon had seen her. Here, the demon had seen her. As if time had no meaning for them. For the demons, or for her.

There was something she was missing. Things she didn’t know she didn’t know. She was lost and alone, and all she wanted was to see Rafe and let him take care of her. When she was with him, she always believed she would survive. Now? Not so much.

The first time she’d stumbled across what she’d thought was a death imprint, she didn’t understand what was going on until it was too late. At the storage facility, she went in wanting to know what happened, and she knew… without witnessing the crime. Because the killer there was human. Not someone who could manipulate the layers of time. Today, she’d intentionally wanted to see how John had died. If Serena had been alone, perhaps Moira wouldn’t have seen it. But because a demon had been involved, Moira saw it all unfold.

Whatever this curse was, it was directly connected to the Underworld. And yet, they only saw her through human eyes. The demon hadn’t known she was there until it had a host. What did that mean? She had no idea. Was she invisible to them until they had eyes to see and ears to hear?